


not a matter of duty

by baggvinshield



Series: what might have been [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Arguing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Podfic Available, Pre-Lord of The Rings, The One Ring - Freeform, messing with timelines, ringbearer!bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggvinshield/pseuds/baggvinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after the Battle of the Five Armies, the issue of the One Ring has come to light, and a council meant to decide what's to be done with the Ring has just convened in Erebor. Bilbo Baggins has volunteered to be the Ringbearer,  and Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, has pledged his sword and service to Bilbo. Bilbo is less than pleased with the notion of the king being involved in such a dangerous quest, and an argument ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a matter of duty

**Author's Note:**

> [Podfic available!](http://baggvinshield.tumblr.com/post/124213471453/evil-bones-mccoy-hot-gothics-in-which) And it's wonderful and perfect.
> 
> This idea was kicking around in my head for weeks and I needed to expel it. Originally posted to my tumblr, baggvinshield. I cleaned it up a bit. 
> 
> This fic is very much in medias res, sorry about that. Also I'm messing with the time line of events because I can. I can't tell you why events surrounding the Ring are accelerated, they just... are. Also, Bilbo is not the Consort, and he doesn't live in Erebor full time - just visits, because these two idiots haven't gotten their romantic shit together yet. Let's see if they can do it in the following 2.6k words.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thorin knows that Bilbo is angry. He can see it in the set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, the way he hangs his head just a bit and casts his gaze down at the floor. He suspected as much when a messenger came to him in the royal quarters with a note from Bilbo that stated simply,

_My quarters, at your convenience. -BB_

Thorin also knows that he should try to speak with Bilbo, if for no other reason than to determine the cause of his anger; he has never been particularly adept at such things, but for Bilbo he will always try.

“Bilbo,” Thorin starts, hoping that his voice is appropriately subdued, “I know that the meeting of the council was strenuous-“

A sharp look from Bilbo cuts him off, and Thorin’s words die in his throat. Bilbo is not just angry, he is furious, and full of a quiet energy that Thorin has not seen in him since the Quest to reclaim Erebor and the great battle that followed. A moment passes in which Thorin becomes acutely aware of the cool breeze on his face, blowing in through the window of Bilbo’s quarters, and he begins to consider closing the shutters, when Bilbo finally speaks.

“Thorin, just what did you think you were doing in there?” Bilbo’s voice quakes with visibly-restrained rage and his gaze remains locked on Thorin’s.

The dwarf king finds himself stunned at the question, and its implication, that Bilbo is, in fact, angry with him. Before he can respond, Bilbo presses on.

“You cannot pledge yourself to this quest, to this fellowship,” Bilbo says, “You are the king of Erebor, not some… wandering, exiled dwarf! This is madness!” Bilbo’s voice rises into something akin to a shout, and Thorin can’t help but wince at his choice of words. Bilbo winces too, and at Thorin’s expression seems to deflate just a little.

Not for the first time in his relationship with the hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, finds himself struggling to find the words to respond to Bilbo. Always he surprises him, always it is the unexpected. Thorin huffs out a breath and begins to pace.

“How can you be angry with me for a pledge of service?” Thorin asks, turning back to face Bilbo. But he knows what is coming, realizes he should have seen it coming, should have had it figured out when, stony-faced, Bilbo walked purposely from the council room without a backwards glance or a word to anyone.

“You are going to Mordor,” Thorin says, his voice hushing, “And into unknown perils besides. Gandalf says you will be hunted.” Thorin brings a hand up to push through his hair. He must make Bilbo understand. “All these years we have been friends. You cannot expect me to sit idly while you walk into such danger.”

“Oh!” Bilbo laughs humorlessly and goes to sit at the large table, plopping himself almost forcefully into a chair facing Thorin. “So you think that, of all the dwarves in Erebor who might be willing to come on this… quest, this journey that, as you’ve pointed out, is likely to be very dangerous, that the king is the best choice? Hm?” Bilbo shakes his head, “I don’t think it works that way, Thorin. You are indispensable, and if war is coming to all lands, as the Elves and the Big Folk seem to think, Erebor will need her king.”

“I have heirs,” Thorin offers, and he knows it is a weak response, but he had truly not been expecting Bilbo’s ire, had not expected anyone to argue with his decision to join the mission. “And I hardly intend to get myself killed. Fili and Dis, with Balin and Kili, and Dwalin as head of Erebor’s Army, are perfectly capable of handling the affairs of the kingdom while I’m gone.”

“And what if that Black Messenger should return?” Bilbo’s expression has softened, and Thorin thinks this is because Bilbo believes himself close to winning this argument. But the stubbornness of dwarves did not reach legendary status without good reason.

“What of it?” Thorin throws back. “I sent that foul creature away once, and no dwarf of Erebor will hesitate to do so in my stead. Besides, he was here looking for you, or for information about you, and he received nothing. And as Gandalf pointed out, Gollum knows that your home is in the Shire, so Erebor’s knowledge of your supposed whereabouts will hardly matter if they capture him.”

Bilbo had looked away at Thorin’s mention of the Shire, and Thorin feels guilty for having brought it up. He thinks of Bilbo’s people, of the quiet and peaceful life they lead, and cannot help but imagine the disastrous result that an armed force would bring to the hobbits. Thorin shakes his head slightly to rid himself of the image, and feels renewed determination to assist on this quest, to see it over and done with and this threat to all peaceful lands destroyed.

The dwarf sighs heavily and moves to sit at the table with Bilbo, taking a chair directly across from him. Bilbo seems content to stew for the time being, staring intently at the teapot that hangs over the small fireplace in his quarters. The fire crackles relentlessly.

Thorin considers, as he often has, reaching across the table and taking one of Bilbo’s smaller hands in his; it would be such an easy thing, to test the limits of their friendship in this way, to see if what Thorin once thought might exist between them is still there. But no, he thinks, that chance was lost years ago, when you reached your hands out in anger and grasped his shirts and swung him-

More thoughts that Thorin banishes, tucking the memory of that day away where it belongs. He straightens his posture, folds his hands in front of him on the table, and presses on with their discussion.

“I understand your point,” Thorin starts, and this earns him a surprised look from Bilbo. Thorin smiles. “I have learned something of diplomacy, you may find. And as I say, I do understand you. However, this decision is mine to make. I know what my people are capable of – and I have trusted kin, in positions of authority, that can manage the mountain if I’m gone for a year.”

A hardness returns to Bilbo’s features as he appears to study the dwarf’s face. Thorin finds that he actually has to fight the urge to fidget under the hobbit’s scrutiny. Always the iron in him surprises you, Thorin chides himself, when will you learn?

“And what if, Thorin,” Bilbo says, voice quiet but steady, “you do not return?”

And this is the argument Thorin was waiting on since the moment he realized that Bilbo was angry with him and not with the council. He responds as if performing a recitation, hoping that Bilbo will be swayed.

“I am over 200-years-old, Master Baggins, and while I’ve not yet reached my dotage I am hardly to be considered a young dwarf anymore. I have two living heirs who are of age; my line is secure in them. If I should fall in this quest, aiding you in this deed that you must accomplish, it would be an honor.”

These are not the right words, for Bilbo rises angrily from the table, the legs of his chair screeching on the polished stone floor. Thorin begins to rise as well, on instinct, though Bilbo is not and has never been his enemy.

“An honor,” Bilbo spits out, and Thorin cannot yet begin to see how he has offended him so. “You dwarves and your honor, and your stubbornness, confound you all!” Bilbo brings his hands down forcefully on the table top.

“Thorin Oakenshield, I did not risk life and limb to see you home again, where you belong, just to have you follow me on this… this suicide mission! And, and…”

Thorin watches as Bilbo struggles to rein in his irritation, and something else passes over the hobbit’s face briefly, as though he will crumble. But of course, he does not, and he rubs a hand over his face as if to banish whatever it was that threatened to take hold there.

“No… I have watched you as you lay dying once already,” Bilbo says, looking into the fireplace, “and I am not willing to do it again. I won’t… allow you to come.”

Bilbo’s features are composed again, his jaw set as he turns his gaze to Thorin once more, and Thorin thinks that for the first time in nearly six years he sees something of his own feelings for Bilbo reflected back at him. Thorin’s heart is racing in his chest, and Bilbo’s breathing is quick though he breaths through his nose. The room is eerily quiet, Thorin thinks, but for the pounding of blood in his ears and Bilbo’s shallow breaths. Despite the fact that they are currently at odds, despite the weighty subject at hand and the dangerous journey before them, Thorin feels a bright spark of hope flare in him as he takes in Bilbo’s words.

And Thorin thinks he might finally be starting to understand Bilbo’s anger, considers that it might be the same anger he felt briefly but forcefully as he sat in the council chambers and realized that Bilbo Baggins was the only choice for a Ringbearer, that his friend, whom he has loved quietly and secretly for years, would once again be facing mortal danger.

“This is not your choice,” Thorin states, and he hopes that if he can push this argument to its end, that perhaps Bilbo will understand why Thorin must go with him.

“I am the Ringbearer,” Bilbo says, lifting his chin slightly, “I think it is my choice.”

“I am a king,” Thorin throws back, and fights a smile.

Bilbo only huffs in annoyance. “Which is exactly why you ought to stay here, in your kingdom, with your people. It’s your duty.”

Thorin won’t be swayed, though he privately concedes that Bilbo knows him exceedingly well and that, under any other circumstances, his duty to his people would keep him tethered in his place.

“And is it not also my duty to do whatever I can to see this evil destroyed forever? Am I not also serving my people, now and for generations to come, in assisting with this quest?” Thorin moves to pace again.

“So why can’t you just send another dwarf, or a whole armed guard for that matter?” Bilbo shouts, “Why must it be you?”

Thorin ignores the suggestion. “Bilbo, this is the single greatest threat that the free peoples of Middle Earth have ever faced. I cannot turn my back on it,” Thorin looks at Bilbo again, and his features soften, “or on you.”

Whatever response Bilbo was working up to is abandoned at Thorin’s words, and he is slack-jawed for just a moment before he composes himself again. “If this is some… debt, that you think you owe me, some kind of honor-bound nonsense -”

“It isn’t,” Thorin interrupts him, and once again feels his blood pounding in his ears. “It’s not about obligation, although no one would fault me if it were – except perhaps you.”

“Then why?” Bilbo’s question sounds to Thorin like more of a statement of disbelief.

Thorin looks Bilbo in the face and says, “Because I cannot let you do this alone.”

Bilbo sighs. “I won’t be alone, Thorin. Gandalf will be with me, and others have pledged themselves to the fellowship. I won’t be alone.”

Thorin steels himself for what he is about to say, hoping that he does not do accidental yet irreparable damage to his friendship with Bilbo.

“But they do not care for you as I do.”

And now Bilbo glances up at him in surprise, and Thorin meets his gaze though he feels the skin of his neck and cheeks begin to heat. “You want me to stay in Erebor because you believe I will be safe here, yes? Well, I must go with you because I believe you will be safest with… with me. And even if I’m wrong on that count, I could not stay here and go on as I have, knowing that you walk such a dangerous path.”

Thorin definitely feels the blush on his face now, but still he holds Bilbo’s wide-eyed gaze. “I would worry too much,” he adds softly.

The fire crackles and the glow of the lamplight flickers as the breeze blows in harder from the open window. A few quiet moments pass, and Bilbo and Thorin stand as though rooted, looking at one another across the expanse of the table between them. Bilbo curls his hands into fists, and Thorin feels the spell break.

With a sigh, he goes to the window to draw the shutters, noting that the sun has fully set.

“You care for me,” Bilbo says to his back as Thorin closes the shutters. Thorin senses movement behind him, but does not turn.

“For how long?”

With his back to Bilbo, Thorin is free to close his eyes and wince, for surely Bilbo must have realized, years ago, that Thorin held him in the highest regard. Surely their shared glances, lingering touches, the way Thorin sought his company more and more at meal times and during breaks on the journey, their drunken, long late-night talk in Laketown, the gift of the mithril…

“Since the quest,” Thorin whispers. “I thought you knew. And then we entered the mountain, and…”

“Thorin.”

The dwarf king turns to face the hobbit, who has come up behind him and is standing rather close, looking up into his face.

“Thorin. I _hoped_.”

And then Bilbo is reaching up to Thorin and his hands are in Thorin’s hair, and Thorin finds that it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done, to allow Bilbo to pull him down into a kiss. Bilbo’s lips are soft against his, and Thorin’s arms seem to slip around Bilbo’s back of their own accord. Their mouths open against one another, and Thorin thinks, oh this, that I have waited for this, I would wait a hundred years if I had to.

 

Later, as they lay in the large bed in Bilbo’s quarters, Bilbo’s bed, Thorin finds that he cannot stop smiling against the crown of the hobbit’s head. Bilbo traces idle patterns with his fingertips in the scars on Thorin’s abdomen, and Thorin is content to the let matter of the new quest rest for the evening.

Bilbo is not.

“Thorin,” he says, and shuffles against the dwarf until he can see his face. “I still think this is quite a terrible idea, you coming with me. If anything happens to you -”

Thorin cuts him off with a kiss, as he has often longed to do. “Please,” the king says, and Bilbo smiles.

“Well,” says Bilbo, laying his head back down on Thorin’s chest and squirming into a more comfortable position. “I suppose that’s settled then. It’s only fair, I guess, that I not ask you to worry less for me than I would for you.”

Thorin presses a kiss to Bilbo’s temple and settles himself down to sleep. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for understanding.”

Bilbo snorts. “I would have rather understood years ago.”

Thorin chuckles, and can’t help but squeeze Bilbo a little more tightly against himself as a feeling of warmth radiates in his chest. Despite all the recent talk of dark days and fell deeds, impossible journeys and, perhaps, the end of the world, Thorin finds that he’s never felt happier. He thinks that this feeling should be odd, really, but it’s not. Bilbo has always, always managed to surprise him in the most wonderful ways.

Thorin is just drifting off to sleep when Bilbo speaks again.

“Why is it always a mountain?”

“Hm?”

“It’s always a mountain. Where we’re trying to get to. What is it with mountains?”

Thorin laughs.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, six years. These two...
> 
> I might write more in this 'verse, but I can't promise anything.


End file.
